The vault greeted Leo like it always had — without sound, without warmth. A room built for silence, not secrets. But Leo knew better.
Silence was the secret.
He stepped through the entrance hatch and sealed it behind him. No retinal scan. No passphrase. Just his presence. That was enough. The system had known him long before access was granted — back when paranoia was the first design principle. Back when Solaris still believed that secrets could be scaffolded into the bones of a building.
The console lit before he touched it.
That was the first warning.
Leo frowned.
He hadn't activated anything yet.
"Show me Delta," he said quietly.
The display obeyed.
A three-angle feed bloomed across the wall, rotating slowly: the Delta chamber. Real-time.
Tessa stood at the converter's center. Still. Breath even. Her hands no longer on the interface, but her posture carried the echo of what had passed — like she was a part of it now. Or worse: like it was now a part of her.
